He rose from his chair and took several turns about the cabin; meanwhile Mr. McEwan steadfastly regarded me. His air was one of professional curiosity. At last his scrutiny grew painful, but he did not relax it, though my uneasiness must have been clear to him. ‘Can you give me any idea,’ said the captain, ‘of what became of the French crew?’ ‘I cannot,’ I replied. ‘It was barbarous of them to leave you on board a vessel which they believed was sinking, or they would not have quitted her.’ ‘I was kindly treated by them,’ I answered. One of them, a young Frenchman, endeavoured to release me that I might gain the deck. But he could not move the cask that was jammed between my door and the steps. His uncle, the captain, threatened to leave him behind. The young man would have saved me could he have procured help.’ ‘That’s how it always is in a panic at sea,’ said the captain, addressing Mr. McEwan. ‘I can tell you exactly how it happened with those foreigners. When the brig was struck the seamen supposed that she would instantly founder. They launched the boat, probably their only boat.’ ‘They had but one boat,’ I said. ‘Just so,’ exclaimed the captain; ‘they launched their only boat, and then as they lay alongside they shouted to their skipper that if he delayed they would leave him. No man has a chance with a cowardly crew at such a time. I dare say, had it depended upon the French captain and his nephew, you would have been brought on deck and taken into the boat. But well for you, poor lady, that they did not stay to release you! They blew away in the blackness, and in such a sea as was running it is fifty to one if the boat was not capsized.’ ‘Are there no initials upon your linen, ma’m?’ inquired the surgeon. I produced from my pocket the handkerchief which the young Frenchman had examined, and handed it to the surgeon, saying, ‘This was in my pocket when I was rescued, and it must therefore be mine. The letters “A. C.” are upon it. My under-linen is similarly marked.’ He looked at the initials, and then passed the handkerchief to the captain. ‘Do not the letters suggest your name to you?’ said the surgeon. I shook my head. ‘Would you know your name if I were to pronounce it, d’ye think?’ ‘I cannot say.’ ‘Have you run over any names for yourself?’ ‘I cannot think of any names to run over,’ said I. ‘Ha!’ exclaimed the captain, ‘how great, how awful is the mystery of life, is the mystery of the mind!’ and as though overcome he stepped to the porthole and seemed to look out, keeping his back upon us. Mr. McEwan continued to scrutinise me.